


I've Got No Right To Take My Place (With The Human Race)

by lurknomoar



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Past Brainwashing, Redemption, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 06:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2955929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurknomoar/pseuds/lurknomoar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grant Ward is loyal to Hydra. Grant Ward is loyal to John Garrett. Grant Ward is loyal to his superiors.</p><p>Grant Ward is lying in Melinda May's bed, wide awake and terrified and thinking about the dog he didn't shoot, the dog he let go. Maybe he could let this go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Got No Right To Take My Place (With The Human Race)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-divergent story, taking place somewhere between episodes 1.8 and 1.14. 
> 
> Title is from a song by The Smiths, 'Bigmouth Strikes Again'.

Ward didn’t remember the nightmare. He only knew that he had been asleep and then he wasn’t, but something was wrong, something felt wrong, and there was a sound, he was making a sound, he mustn’t make a sound, not that sound, the one that slipped out of him with every breath, Garrett said it made him sound like a scared little dog and that it was pathetic, it really was pathetic, he hasn’t cried since he was seven but sometimes he couldn’t stop his breath from whistling out of him but he managed to learn to keep quiet, in the last ten years Garrett didn’t even need to kick him, a look was enough, so why couldn’t he shut up now, why wasn’t Garrett there to shut him up why? He pressed his palm against his mouth, knowing that it was better to choke than to give himself away. Especially since – he wasn’t in his own room. He was – in Agent May’s bed. He remembered now – a long day and a long night, a difficult mission, a round of athletic sex to keep up his cover, and then he didn’t have the energy to leave like he usually did. That was unwise and must not happen again.

At this point he was coordinated enough to turn around and look up. Right into Agent May’s eyes – awake, alert, and staring at him with a curious, considering expression. She heard. For a second he wondered if he had blown his cover – because Grant Ward, top marks Grand Ward, duty-first Grant Ward did not whimper in his sleep. Then he realised that he could just adjust the cover. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he could keep lying, invent an injury or a dead mother or whatever would gain him enough of May’s sympathy to excuse his conduct but not enough to prompt her into asking questions. God, he was tired.

‘Did I wake you?’ He asked, aiming for sheepishly charming. His voice didn’t sound right.

‘I was awake anyway,’ she said, stretching. ‘Wanna spar?’

‘What?’ he asked, startled by her lack of comment.

‘Spar.’ She repeated, ‘Put some clothes on and we can go a few rounds. Help you sleep.’

He shrugged into some sweatpants and followed her into the corridor. He did not want to spar, but after her inexplicable generosity of not asking him questions, he owed her that much. So he dropped into combat stance and did his best to focus on her movements as they warily circled each other. She lunged, he dodged. He feinted, she didn’t react. He hit, she blocked, she kicked, he blocked – for a while, they moved like flawlessly interlocking parts of a complex machine. But then he had to see – it was only her that could keep moving with that mechanical perfection. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the pain still lingered where he had been punched in the kidneys the day before. She seemed less exhausted than him, less fogged by sleep. He managed to put her in a hold once, locked his elbow around her neck, but she pinned him once, twice, three times without breaking a sweat. The fourth time he went down, face pressed into the floor, his arms twisted back under May’s weight on his back, he thought something he had only ever thought about Garrett: she could kill me. She could kill me and then everything would be over. For a single endless moment he allowed himself to feel that bright floating relief, May’s unbreakable unrelenting hold pressing the air from his lungs – but no. It was too good to contemplate.

‘Forfeit.’ He growled.

‘I didn’t expect you to even know that word.’ Said May with mock surprise, getting off him.

‘When the situation warrants it.’ He murmured. He felt – he didn’t know. He got punched a lot and that removed the urge to get punched. That was probably a good thing.

‘Come back to bed.’ She said, unsmiling but soft.

He didn’t answer. He followed her. He laid down on the bed. She pulled the blankets over both of them and settled down to sleep, close to him, close enough to touch, but not touching. He tried closing his eyes, but realised he didn’t want to. He wanted to watch her, her closed eyes, her face sinking into the pillow, her unbreakable machine of a body softened in sleep. He didn’t love her. He didn’t love her, he knew that. But he wanted. He wanted so hard it frightened him, and he didn’t even know what it was that he wanted. Not sex. Not sparring. Not kindness, or kissing, or anything like that. Just – for her to be there, to continue to be there, alive.

He slipped back into sleep. This time, he did know what the nightmare was about – how could he ever forget, after all, it was always the same nightmare. The one about the well – the one about his little brother in the well, trashing, drowning, terrified. It didn’t matter that his brother was no longer in that well, the moment he fell asleep he was twelve again, with his brother forever in that well and him forever too weak to help. He knew he was asleep, but he couldn’t stop his feet from taking long strides towards the well, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning out to look into it.

It wasn’t his brother down there. It was Fitz.

Fitz was treading water, but his movements were feeble and uncoordinated, he was breathing in desperate gasps. He was pale, his curly hair sticking wetly his temple, his lips greyish – Ward’s training as a field medic kicked in to rattle off the symptoms of hypothermia. Fitz was at the end of his strength, that much was clear. Fitz was going to drown.

When he saw Ward looking down at him, Fitz – Fitz smiled. Through the panic and the exhaustion, he smiled, like Ward was the person he would be the happiest to see in the entire universe. He shouted something, but his voice was lost in the echoes of the well. Nevertheless Ward knew what he was saying – he wanted Ward to get him out. But Ward couldn’t, he couldn’t, and he shouted down at Fitz, he shouted ‘I can’t, I can’t get you out’ – and Fitz wasn’t angry. Fitz wasn’t scared. Fitz didn’t seem to understand what he was saying, and he kept moving, slower and slower, by this time it was obvious that he had trouble keeping his head above water but every time he surfaced he did so with the same stubbornly hopeful expression, as if to say that until the next breath he refused to give up. Ward watched, and watched, and realised with the utter certainty of dream logic that Fitz was never going to get out of that well.

Ward started awake, silently this time. He took stock of his surroundings – May’s bed, May sleeping, weapons under bed door to the left, no window. They were all alive and Fitz wasn’t in a well. But the terror he had felt in the dream had not gone away. Fitz was in danger. They all were in danger. He has weighed the risks before, he has weighed them a thousand times, and they had always seemed acceptable. He knew that Garrett was using him to infiltrate Coulson’s secret project and he knew that whatever the solution was, it probably involved Coulson being torn to shreds in a sub-basement lab. He couldn’t say he liked the idea, but over the years he has had to do so many things he disliked that it did not really faze him.

But the thought of the others getting caught in the crossfire – he more than disliked that. It just – it was unthinkable. When he tried to think about it, it felt like running into a wall. Garrett taught him how to not to get attached – and he was not attached, he would swear by that. This wasn’t sentiment, this wasn’t whatever weak people felt for each other. But still, the thought of Fitz drowning – it felt worse than he himself drowning, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. Garrett made sure he knew what drowning felt like. He also knew what it felt like to be shot in the stomach, and he didn’t want Simmons to have to feel that. He knew what it felt like to starve, to thirst, to be deprived of sleep, to be locked up in a cage too small to straighten up in, and he knew that if Skye was to be retained as a useful asset, she would learn it too. He knew what if felt like to be electrocuted, and…well, May probably knew it too, but all the same, she should not suffer that pain unnecessarily. He wasn’t attached, attachment was illogical, attachment was weakness – and when thought about the team, he didn’t feel weak. He felt stronger than he ever has.

He was used to losing team members, and he knew it did not matter as long as he completed the mission. But the thought of losing someone on this team didn’t feel like losing a soldier, it felt like failing the mission itself. And he could not afford to fail a mission. That well-known aching fear overtook him and filled him to the extent that he stopped registering it – panic cleared his mind, and he began to formulate a plan.

He sat up, careful not to disturb May. He could solve this. He learned how to escape handcuffs by breaking his own thumbs. He escaped from underground confinement in a Bathorian kult by prostituting himself to one of his gaolers. He once won a fight with a significant portion of the Russian mafia by opening a can of poison gas the room he himself was in, and hoping he could hold his breath longer than they could. Everything could be achieved, but everything had a cost. The team must not be harmed – what was the cost? If he kept them in the dark, they were weaker. If he kept them in the dark, they would die. To have a fighting chance, they would need to know – about everything. About Hydra, about the Clairvoyant, about Garrett – but that was impossible. Telling anyone about Garrett was unthinkable.

But the team being harmed was no less unthinkable. The death of the team would not be like the death of the dozens of men and women he already killed – it would be like the death of his little brother. He did not get attached, his mind was clear, he knew that no matter how hard he pretended, the people on the Bus weren’t really his friends, weren’t really his lovers. What were they then? His family? But no, he remembered what family felt like, he remembered the fear that he couldn’t leave behind, and the people on the Bus were different. He could leave them if he wanted to, it’s just that he found that he didn’t want to. He never thought of Garrett as family either. Garrett was – his SO. His superior. But Coulson was also his superior, and the team was, the team was his team. There was a flaw in the system. He had been given contradicting unbreakable orders. Obey Garrett. Protect your team. To follow one is to break the other.

He knew there was no right choice. He knew that he was set up for failure, and he only had himself to blame. He was stuck and he would have to cut something off to get free and it would hurt more than he could imagine, and he knew that if he was to do it he had to do it fast. He believed himself to be above fear but he knew he wasn’t above hesitation, and if he gave himself a moment to think, he would not make the decision. He would continue floundering in doubt. He needed to act, and he couldn’t leave himself room to back down. He had to tell them.

But he couldn’t tell them. He wracked his brain for a time he disobeyed and got away with it, or even a time he disobeyed at all. And he came up with one single instant – having the dog in his sights, his finger on the trigger, and waiting. Not shooting. He was ordered to shoot the dog, and instead he let it go. Of course years have passed since then, and the dog was probably dead. But still, he could just try to let this go. He won’t give Garrett up – but if Coulson was to interrogate him, he could just… let go. Let go and let them live. He remembered what he felt like when he let the dog go – he felt cold and lonely and hungry and tired to the point of delirium. He had been half out of his mind – so he needed to be there again.

He got up quietly, crept to the old-school first-aid kit May kept under her desk, found the disinfectant by touch, and downed the entire bottle in three long gulps. He felt the unpleasant burn of medical alcohol going down, and waited for a few minutes until he could feel the effects kicking in. He stood up and walked back over to the bed. May was lying on her stomach, breathing even, sound asleep. Her neck was bare, her hands slack, stupidly vulnerable – he could easily kill her and no one would know for hours.

‘May.’ He said, shaking her awake. ‘Wake up and get your gun.’

May awoke instantly, and in less than a second was already standing, holding one of the icer pistols.

‘What happened?’ she asked, quiet, alert. Some part of him approved of her speed.

‘You need to cuff me and take me to Coulson.’ He said, somewhat surprised that he actually managed to get the words out.

May spared him one long look, taking in the sleep-mussed hair, the bruises from combat and sparring, the smell of alcohol, and then to his great surprise obeyed without question. Instead of a handcuff, she used zip-ties – he almost laughed when he remembered how proud Fitz was of coming up with a new, unbreakable design. Keeping the pistol trained on him, she backed towards the door. She motioned him to walk out onto the corridor, and followed him towards Coulson’s room, pistol raised.

He considered running, wondered if that would be enough to make May shoot him. Or maybe attacking her, that would certainly provoke a reaction. He would quietly bleed out and he wouldn’t have to tell them anything, he could be rid of the entire – but no. When he was dead, Garrett would still need Coulson, he would still need Skye. If Ward was dead, he would just use someone else in his place. And the team won’t know anything, they’ll be defenceless, so he must not run, but he had to run…

‘Are you free to talk?’ asked May, sharp but quiet.

He wasn’t sure. He didn’t know if he would be able to. But he nodded anyway. He felt unsteady, and at the same time not nearly unsteady enough.

‘Are we being watched?’ she asked next.

He shook his head – yes, they were being watched, but it was only Ward watching them.

‘Is there an intruder on the plane?’

He choked down hysterical laughter. That wouldn’t help anything, and convulsing in tearful giggles was not going to make Coulson more likely to believe his utterly insane story about Hydra. So he just shook his head.

‘Can you tell me why I had to handcuff you then?’ she asked, with a touch of impatience in her voice.

‘So I wouldn’t run.’ He said. That was almost easy.

She didn’t reply. She didn’t push it.

She kept the pistol trained on him while she knocked on Coulson’s door – he came out barely five seconds later, wearing a bathrobe. He didn’t look like had been sleeping. He took in the situation – Ward handcuffed, May with the icer – and raised an eyebrow.

‘Do I get an explanation?’ he asked, bemused.

‘He asked me to cuff him and bring him here.’ May shrugged. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak.

‘I have information.’ Ward gasped. ‘I have information about the identity of the clairvoyant.’

‘Good news, come on in then.’ Said Coulson, ‘Can I make you some tea?’

‘No, its – ‘ and here was the moment that decided everything, wasn’t it. He could still back down. He could still follow his orders. He could still lie. And if he lied, he reminded himself – Fitz dead Simmons dead May dead Coulson vivisected Skye tortured tortured tortured – 

‘John Garrett is the Clairvoyant, leaking SHIELD intel to outside sources. He is not working alone but alongside a secret organisation known as HYDRA.’

Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?

‘What.’ Said Coulson, quite without inflection. Now comes disbelief – Hydra was destroyed in’44 and Garrett cannot be the Clairvoyant, et cetera – and Ward wasn’t sure he could take Coulson’s doubt on top of his own. Then after a few seconds of silence Coulson gathered himself and spoke again.

‘Are you drunk?’ he asked.

‘No. Yes. Somewhat. But I’m lucid.’

‘Are you under some sort of coercion?’

Ward shook his head again. If Coulson didn’t start asking the right questions, and fast, there was no way Ward could tell him what he needed to hear.

‘Tell us what you know, ‘interjected May, ‘and how you know it. Leave nothing out.’

She was standing behind him, and he knew without looking that the gun was mere inches from the back of his neck. He was threatened - she was an enemy – he was trained for this – he felt the adrenaline kick in as his body prepared for pain.

‘You’re not getting shit.’ He said, his mind going blissfully blank with the knowledge that he was obeying again. They could torture him, they could kill him and they wouldn’t get anything. ‘You’re not getting shit from me.’

‘Are you… are you Hydra?’ asked Coulson.

Ward just – grinned. He didn’t want them to die, but what could he do if they were so very weak? They were already as good as dead.

And then May hit him. No, hitting him is not an accurate description of what happened – she only struck him lightly on the side of the neck and he crumpled helplessly to her feet. She grabbed his hair to turn his face towards her, but it didn’t hurt much – for a split second he felt disgusted by this almost-gentleness.

‘Who is your commanding officer?’ she asked.

He didn’t answer. He gave Garrett up when he decided to, but he couldn’t when he was asked to.

‘What are his plans?’ she demanded.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know if he wanted to answer. He was being interrogated and why did he ever think that he could let this go? How could he forget that he was taught to bite his own tongue off rather than speak?

‘Leave him.’ Sighed Coulson, sounding impossibly tired. ‘And take the cuffs off.’

She removed the zip-ties, but he remained kneeling immobile on the floor, his hands crossed behind his back. He knew that sudden movements could still cost him his life. Year and years of training still filled the place where his self-preservation instinct was once, a long time ago. He wondered what Coulson was going to do, if he was going to get pistol-whipped or if Coulson had more elaborate ideas. Instead he sat down on the ground with his legs crossed, and for the first time Ward realised that they were both barefoot. That felt – wrong, somehow. Off-script. Unreal.

‘Why did you tell us?’ asked Couson, and he sounded genuinely curious.

‘You will die.’ Said Ward, the words tumbling out mechanically.

‘How will we die?’

‘He wants to know how you survived and they want Skye for intel and we’ll kill the rest.’

‘Who’s we?’ asked Coulson. Still quiet.

‘Garrett and me.’ 

‘What about Hydra?’

‘Bunch of fanatics. But Garrett tolerates them because they have resources.’

‘What does Hydra want?’

‘Control. Inflitrate SHIELD. Use Project Insight.’

‘I see.’ Hummed Coulson, still looking at him with that patient, detached curiosity. ‘How long has this been going on?’

‘Since ’33. Rogers couldn’t shut them down, not really.’

‘No, I mean – you. How long have you been undercover with Hydra?’

Ward was vaguely aware that he could still, at this point, tell a convincing lie. About any of it. He shuffled from his awkward kneeling position to sit cross-legged on the floor, mirroring Coulson’s posture. He realised the black sweatpants he was wearing were May’s.

‘Not undercover.’ He muttered, staring at his own bare feet. ‘Garrett was in it for the power and I went in after him.’

‘When?’

‘They inducted me in 2002.’

‘And why?’

He didn’t answer.

‘All right.’ Sighed Coulson, scrubbing a hand over his face. ‘If Hydra still exists, we have to tell the World Security Council.’

‘Hydra has men in WSC too.’ Said Ward. He was wrong when he thought the alcohol was affecting him – it was only now that he was truly feeling it. He was dizzy and a little nauseous.

‘We must tell Fury then.’

‘He won’t believe it.’ Contradicted May, ‘Not even from you.’

She had been sitting at Coulson’s desk, furiously typing into his computer.

‘There are certain channels.’ Mumbled Ward miserably. ‘We use them to coordinate between cells.’

‘Which ones?’ asked Coulson when Ward lapsed into silence.

‘SHIELD mission report channels 2B, 13C and W0.’

‘I’m having a look at these.’ Said May, her fingers clacking on the keyboard. ‘And they are encrypted.’

‘Hydra uses a self-modifying code based on the old Enigma machines.’ Said Ward. ‘Nobody can read it without knowing the decryption password.’

‘Which is?’

‘I don’t know. They change it randomly, and I haven’t yet had contact to confirm the new one.’

‘What was the last one?’

‘VDKN4184.’

May pushed a few buttons on the Bus intercom.

‘Fitz, Simmons, I need you in Coulson’s room stat.’ she said briskly. ‘No, I don’t care, come as you are.’

A few strange minutes passed. To Ward’s surprise, the interrogation did not continue – May was typing rapidly and occasionally hissing at the computer, and Coulson got around to making two cups of tea. He offered one to Ward who couldn’t have taken it if he wanted to – his hands were no longer bound, but he felt too numb to move. The world was spinning and all he wanted was for it to stop.

Fitz fell into the room, and on her tracks, Simmons. Fitz was wearing a lab coat pulled together in the front, wisely, since underneath he only had boxers on. Simmons seemed much less self-conscious in a set of Captain America pyjamas. 

‘We need you to break into SHIELD communications that are almost certainly Hydra communications.’ Opened Coulson.

‘Sure.’ Nodded Fitz. 

Simmons motioned for May to move out of the chair, and settled at the computer, with Fitz sitting on the table. They started talking in rapidfire technical terms, and Ward had to admit – at least this part of it was completely out of his hands. He entertained the thought of killing someone in the room – Fitz or Simmons looked like easy targets (they always have looked like targets) but even without the knowledge that he was watched by the immortal Agent Coulson and the real live Cavalry, he felt no impulse to follow though. Let them talk, let them work, let them figure out whatever they could – he wouldn’t do anything about it. It was over – he couldn’t think about what would come next. He cautiously attempted to think of Fury’s reaction to the news, or Garrett’s reaction to what he did, or the chaotic and bloody war he has just accidentally started, but he found he couldn’t. All he could do was stare the dustmotes floating in the beam of Coulson’s desk lamp while the argumentative voice of Fitzsimmons rose and fell in the background. Coulson picked up the phone and walked over to the next room. There was only May left, leaning against the opposite wall, staring at him.

‘Get up.’ She said. He obeyed without thinking, then staggered a little. He felt more tired than he had ever been, more tired than even after those sleepless months alone in the woods, and just as lost.

‘We’re going.’ She said, and walked him out of the room, steering him by his shoulder. She still had the icer in her other hand, and he was still glad of it.

She led him to the interrogation room, and closed the door.

‘You’re staying here until we sort this thing out with the channels and Hydra.’ She said. ‘Just in case you’ve got any weird implants or compulsions.’

‘Don’t you want me to talk?’ Ward asked, baffled.

‘You’ll talk tomorrow.’ She shrugged. ‘Or whenever you sober up.’

‘But aren’t you… aren’t you going to finish it?’

‘No!’ she snapped, as if she was offended at the suggestion. ‘You may be an infiltrator and a two-faced ass that lied his team, but you still are the only source on Hydra that we’ve got. There’s no way we’ll hurt you after what you pulled tonight.’

‘But I’ – he started, then stopped halfway. He tried to stand up in a straight and dignified manner, but he knew he was going to fall over quite soon. The normally unnoticeable vibration of the plane felt like he was picked up and shaken like a ragdoll. He has messed up everything he has worked on in the last ten years. He was nobody, and a stumbling drunk nobody at that. He needed everything to stop, and he thought that was why May brought him here. ‘I don’t want –‘

‘Sleep.’ She said, shepherding him towards the bunk in the wall. ‘And I’ll interrogate you when you are not slurring your words.’

‘All right.’ Said Ward, falling heavily down on the unadorned metal surface. He made a token attempt to untangle his limbs, then just laid there, miserable and unmoored.

‘Night.’ She said, not unkindly. He heard the swish and click of the door closing behind her, and then there was nothing but darkness.

***  
Ward awoke. That, in and of itself, was surprising. His head was pounding and he felt like throwing up, but he remembered every single thing that happened the night before. He wished he didn’t. He had no way out. He couldn’t go back to Garrett – not after he did. But he couldn’t continue as he had on the Bus, not after what he had told the others. There was nothing he could do other than lie there, petrified with the horror of what he had done. He didn’t dare open his eyes.

‘Stop faking, I know you’re awake.’ Said a sharply cheerful voice.

Ward forced himself to open his eyes, and sat up a little. He immediately regretted it, as the floor started moving and a new stab of pain cleaved through his brain. But before he clenched his eyes shut again, he saw Skye – she was sitting on a chair, she was wearing jeans and a hoodie, and she was eating cereal out of a bowl.

‘Morning!’ she said. ‘I appreciate the effort, but it’s probably for the best if you just stay horizontal.’

‘How – how much do you know?’ Ward managed to croak.

‘Not much.’ She said through a mouthful of cereal. ‘Only that you had sex with May, cried in your sleep, got drunk and then revealed the greatest international conspiracy pretty much ever.’

‘Oh.’ Sighed Ward. They really were at an impasse.

‘Good call, by the way.’ Said Skye, unperturbed. ‘Fitz woke me up around four to help crack the Nazi computer code from hell, and it turns out Hydra is, a), freaking everywhere and b), ready to murder heaps of people for really random reasons. So I guess it’s great that we know about it, I just don’t see why you didn’t tell us sooner.’

Ward tried to answer, and couldn’t. His throat was dry and his mouth tasted foul and the words just wouldn’t come.

‘Garrett was my SO.’ He said finally.

‘And you were mine.’ Said Skye. ‘Were you planning on recruiting me like he recruited you?’

Ward wanted to deny it, loudly and passionately and truthfully, but again, he couldn’t. He had to admit – the few times he allowed to think about the future, he imagined Skye by his side. And if Skye was to stay by his side, she would have to take orders from him or Garrett or Hydra. But now that she was sitting in front of him, asking him that question, he suddenly had to imagine treating her like Garrett treated him. And Garrett was always good to him, but to do the same things to Skye – to leave her alone in the wilderness, to choke her out, to beat her until she spits and pisses blood – it didn’t seem good, it seemed unthinkable.

‘Yeah.’ She said wryly. ‘I get it.’

He shook his head weakly. She really didn’t.

‘I used to be a terrorist, remember?’ she asked irritably. ‘The Rising Tide may have been more annoying than dangerous, but still. Your cell comes first, everything else comes second. Until it doesn’t.’

She put down the empty cereal bowl on the floor, and started rummaging around in the messenger bag she had at her feet.

‘What changed your mind?’ she asked suddenly. ‘I know that you’re an orders kind of guy, and your orders were to sell us out. So what happened?’

‘New orders.’

‘That outweigh the orders of your SO?’

‘Yeah.’ Ward murmured, and only realised how true that was the moment it left his mouth. ‘You and May and Coulson and even Fitzsimmons. You outrank him.’

‘That sounds good.’ Said Skye, ‘I’m glad that we have that on record.’

She sounded – strange. Distant, ironic, but at the same time almost fond.

The next time he opened his eyes, she was standing right next to him.

‘Take these.’ She said, thrusting two little white pills at him.

‘They let you come visit me unarmed?’ he asked, surprised.

‘Stop nit-picking.’ She said, this time genuinely annoyed. ‘Yesterday you pretty much confirmed that you are at least trying to be on our side, today you are in absolutely no state to be taking hostages, and I am wearing Fitz’s experimental tazer-bracelets that could knock you out cold in a second, so take the damn pills.’

He obediently swallowed.

She lifted a plastic bottle to his lips. He drank. The water tasted wonderful and clean.

‘‘What was that?’ he asked, as an afterthought.

‘Aspirin, you dolt.’ She said. ‘You are to be debriefed in less than an hour, and we need you to look presentable, or at least to be capable of standing up.’

‘Triskelion?’

‘No, there’s no way Fury’s gonna let an asset like you come anywhere near headquarters.’

‘So Fury knows.’

‘He does, and I’m not going to play information games with you. Coulson told Fury everything Fitzsimmons managed to get out of the communications I hacked into, and he already started working out his next step. Oh, and if you were wondering – we know that the Avengers are in the clear. There are a few infiltrators in Stark’s company, but that was to be expected.’

‘Are you forbidden to tell me where I’m being taken?’

‘I don’t know exactly.’ Sighed Skye, back in her chair, scrolling through something on her tablet. ‘Coulson says we’re going to a safehouse near Lake Balaton.’

Ward expected to be killed fast, or interrogated until they were sure he retained no information. Neither of them seemed frightening, but the indecision between the two rankled, and so did the potential third option that he would be locked up and forgotten about.

‘Coulson sorted it all out.’ She continued. ‘Fury is busy, but luckily SHIELD has an expert on defection from evil spy networks. And exit councillor of sorts.’

‘You mean – ‘ breathed Ward. If his first guess was correct, the next few hours were going to be excruciating.

‘Yep. Romanoff.’ Nodded Skye. ‘When Fury called her, she jumped at the chance to personally debrief you.’

Ward swallowed. If he was to be taken to the Black Widow, on her own ground, there was not much point in trying to prepare what he was going to say. She would read him like a book, and all he knows would belong to SHIELD, even the things he won’t want to give up, even the things he never knew he had.

‘Oh, and she said to tell you that if your story doesn’t check out, she will off you.’

‘And if it does check out?’

‘Then she will do her best to stop you from offing yourself.’

‘Do you think’ Ward asked, horrified at his voice failing him. ‘Do you think my story checks out?’

‘Well.’ She said, then was silent for a long moment. She genuinely seemed to consider the question. ‘On one hand you claim to be the member of a clandestine organisation that was supposedly eradicated in 1944, and that both you and your SO are out for Coulson’s blood. Literally. On the other hand nobody makes up bullshit like this, so for the time being I’m inclined to believe that you really did just defect from freaking Hydra.’

‘Thank you.’ Said Ward. He helplessly wished he could say more, something about how he didn’t mean it, or if he meant it he didn’t mean it anymore.

‘You’re welcome.’ She said. ‘Now try to get your act together, we’re landing in twenty minutes.’

She got up, patted him on the shoulder and walked out.

He stared after her, he stared at the door sliding shut behind her. He didn’t love her, he knew he didn’t. But she was alive and safe and perfect and alive, and he still felt the touch of her kind human hand on his shoulder.

He suddenly remembered the dog, years ago, and the guilty rush of relief he had felt when he let it run from him. He had thought that it was his team that was weak and lovely and vulnerable like that dog was, and he almost laughed aloud at how wrong he had been. It was him, it had always been him. He was the dog slated to die, and his team were the masters, the kind and forgiving masters who could not bring themselves to pull the trigger. He didn’t know how he became theirs and he didn’t know how much longer they would let him live, but in that moment, locked in a brig, lying on a cold metal bunk, sick and hungover in an invisible airplane flying over rural Hungary, he knew that he had done right. He has followed his orders.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see me randomly ramble about redemption arcs, say hi at quietblogoflurk.tumblr.com


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